


Royal Flush

by thepeachcompany (AiTaiga)



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, Sort Of, secret santa gift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 07:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13141479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AiTaiga/pseuds/thepeachcompany
Summary: The Phanton Thieves are an international band of revolutionaries who steal from the rich and give to the poor- by outing filthy, corrupt people of power.However Joker finds himself falling for a far greater treasure when his target leads him to a web of dark secrets sheltered by the royal family.Akechi is a modern day prince, fighting to keep those secrets buried.Akira is the quiet baker from another country who steals his heart.(Secret santa gift for the akeshuake secret santa exchange 2k17! Rating may change later.)





	Royal Flush

**Author's Note:**

> UUUHHH MERRY CHRISTMAS!  
> I told myself I would just write you some romcom but it uh  
> got out of control  
> I may make a continuation/rewrite of this if you end up liking it.
> 
> Notes:  
> -Akechi's country is left purposely ambiguous as to not reflect on any actual political events or locations  
> -Side character names are also used from the game in order to not depict any real persons  
> -Akechi's family has no actual political power, they are just very wealthy.  
> -Akechi and Akira are in their 20's in this  
> -Uuuuh I love Haru and want to marry her Im sorry.  
> -I don't speak French  
> -idk how the slow burn tag works

“President Kaneshiro caught embezzling funds to a foreign mafia-”   
The headline is everywhere; On every news station, on flashing bulletins on each channel, on the front cover of every newspaper printed that morning.  
“The President of the pharmaceutical company was ousted by a mysterious individual claiming to be a thief of hearts going by the name of ‘Joker’-”  
The stack of papers never stood a chance in his grip, crinkling and crumbling like rubbish before he tosses it to the ground. The ink smears under his shoe as he digs his heel into the pile, sending scuffed and dirty documents sliding across the ornamental rug.  
“ _Goro_!”  
A slow, deep inhale unwinds his shoulders from their bunched position. With practiced poise he turns slowly, movie star smile full of shiny teeth and false promises. As if his office were not currently in a state of disaster, with officials rushing to and fro behind him, a few gathering up the papers he’d discarded.   
“Yes, father?”  
“My office, now.”  
There’s no margin for protest in his tone, the sharp words making him tense and flinch. Obediently he counts out the man’s retreating steps, waiting until the third to fall into pace behind him.

“This is absurd.”  
He manages not to flinch wen the door slams shut behind him, closing his eyes against the rush of wind that hits his face. The older man stomps across the office, slamming his hands harshly against the polished, dark oak of his desk. Akechi watches him in silence as he bows his head and sucks in steadying breaths.   
“I want him caught, Goro.” His voice wavers in a way that sends the hairs on his nape standing on end.   
Akechi straightens his spine, arms tucked behind him at attention. The sting to his pride agrees, blood still simmering with humiliation. It’s a quieter part of him that pipes up; “Kaneshiro? I believe he has alrea-”  
“No!” Shido whirls on him, face dark and stretched over fat veins. “Joker. I want him caught.”  
It takes him aback, lashes fluttering as quickly as his rapid heartbeat. “I’m afraid I do not follow. Has he committed a crime?”  
The way Shido’s face twists makes him regret asking. The yelling never comes, instead the man drags his fingers off the desk and moves around it to sink down into his chair. The designer leather creaks in welcome, the wheels sliding a little with his weight.  
“Isn’t it obvious, Akechi?” His voice is soft in ways that makes his stomach churn. “This person is clearly some sort of foreign spy. He was able to infiltrate Kaneshiro’s private information, and force the man to turn himself in. He made his deepest, darkest secrets public knowledge.”   
The more he talks, the further the chill crawls beneath his suit.   
“There has been similar cases in America, as well as Belgium and France. This man is a threat.”  
Akechi finds it hard to swallow around the rising lump in his throat. It’s not Joker’s impending threat that chokes him though.  
It’s the wild look in his father’s eyes, despite the politician’s smile. He’s sweating, subtly, just enough that Akechi can see his cheeks gleam in the lamplight. Slowly he leans forward across the desk, and despite the desk between them, Akechi finds himself backing up against the door.  
“Which leads me to my next point.” He laces his fingers together, sinking back into his chair once more, picking him apart behind his lenses.  
“I want you to head the team pursuing him. I leave you and your personal guard in charge of the police force. I am entrusting you to catch him.” Shido adds as Akechi stares on in stunned silence. “You can do that for me right, Prince Goro?”

The next swallow is painful.  
“Yes, father.”  
Shido’s smile is almost sweet.  
“Make me proud.” He says, even as he turns and dismisses him with a wave of his hand as if he were any other servant.

He isn’t even entirely sure all of it had truly transpired, until a well dresses woman falls into pace beside him, introducing herself with a name Goro doesn’t care quite enough to remember, and hands him a business card he doesn’t bother to look at before he stuffs it into is coat.   
“Take me to the scene.”

* * *

"Hey guys, I'm going to be here longer than I thought."

"Dude, you were only supposed to out Kaneshiro and get out!"

"I know, I know, but there's someone here I want to help."

There's a feminine sigh, and a deeper chuckle. A childish voice grumbles; "He's pretty, isn't he?"

Akira feels his lips twisting into a grin, and hides his face bashfully against his shoulder despite being by himself in the apartment. "Very."

There's a harmony of sighs, an outrageous cackle, and the sound of someone slapping their hand to something- presumably their face.  
"Noir, are you still in France?" A calm voice cuts through the hysteria.  
" _Oui_ ," She pauses to giggle. "I'll head over once I'm done and back him up."  
“Keep him from doing anything stupid.”   
“Oh, sorry, I can’t-” He pauses, then presses air through his teeth to make a static hiss; “Hear- must be-”  
“Joker!”  
“Bad-”  _Hiss_ ; “Connection.”  
He hears a shout of his name, and an uproar of voices before the call drops.

* * *

“Goro, when was the last time you slept?” He slides the mug towards the mop of auburn hair, and a hand emerges from beneath the bar to grope blindly for it. Just as the tips of his fingers reach the edge of the ceramic, Akira pulls it just an inch out of reach. His fingers grope empty air once more before falling limp in defeat. “Haru isn’t going to let me give you the good coffee if you keep using it to replace sleep.”

Silence answers him, broken only by a deep exhale before Goro peels his forehead from the lacquer. Amid the far too bright lights of the bakery Akira is waiting for him, leaning heavily on the bar with soft eyes crinkled at their corners, and a smile that could melt the sun. Shit, he doesn’t even need the coffee when the flutter of thick eyelashes brings fresh air into his lungs.   
“Forgive me,” He’s not truly sorry, and Akira’s slow blink leads him to believe he’s about as opaque as glass right then. His fingers stretch for the coffee once more, and once more it’s coyly slid just to the left of his hand. “Akira-”  
“Ah, ah- I don’t want an apology, I want a promise.”   
Just like that he loses the breath he’d been given, sinking into his seat until he’s swallowed by the neck of his hoodie.   
“Promise me you’ll quit chasing shadows. Just for one night.”   
His voice is a gentle caress, and Goro longed to crawl into its embrace and let it’s hum drown out the static of his own brain. It’s why he kept coming back. A night in the late summer rain, a desperate need for something to warm him from the inside out, and the soft glow of the cafe lights amid the haze had lured him here.   
The curly haired barista had frozen in the middle of flipping the sign, staring at the sodden man on the other side of the glass as if he were a creature who’d crawled out from the manhole down the street. Instead of calling the police, he slowly opened the door and gestured him in. The first sip of coffee had granted him life again, and an exchange of names brought him back three months later.   
“If I promise, will you give me the stupid coffee?”  
“No, because you called my coffee stupid.”  
Exhaling loudly, Goro sinks so far down his ass nearly slides off the edge of his seat until his back curls painfully.   
“Your coffee isn’t stupid, you know I love it.”  
Akira’s nose crinkles in that curious way rabbits do, and while he’d yet to figure out what it meant, it made him hide his grin in the lip of his hood. “I promise, Akira.”  
The touch of a calloused palm against his hand makes him straight a little, the barista holding it in place as he presses the warm mug into his waiting palm. It bleeds into his skin, unwinding his muscles like knotted twine.   
“It was too hot. You were going to burn your tongue.”  
He still burns himself, and Akira’s musical laughter fills the bakery as he chokes on bittersweet liquid.  
But just for an hour he forgets the ache in his back and the weight of his fatigue.

* * *

“Goro, what’re you doing for Christmas?”  
Akechi pauses in the midst of nursing his fourth coffee that day, his kidneys wailing for water. Sucking the remnants from his lips, he sets the mug down carefully.   
“That depends on who’s asking.”  
Akira’s lips curl as he drapes his upper half over the bar, putting himself at point blank eye level with Akechi.  
“A handsome baker.”  
Akechi hums.  
“Tell him to take a number then.”  
He chuckles as Akira’s jaw goes slack and his brows furrowed. He looks absolutely wounded.   
“I only say yes to  _cute_  bakers.”  
Muttering to himself, Akira stands upright. Akechi can’t help but note the pink on his cheeks when he tucks a defiant cowlick behind his ear. He recollects himself, hand planted on his hips, smearing powdered sugar on his sweater.  
“If you’re not working, would you like to spend it here?”  
Akechi blinks, and sips his coffee loudly. “Won’t you be closed?”  
“Well, duh. But I can let you in.”  
“Don’t you want to spend it with, you know, someone special?”  
They stare at each other for a long time over the counter.  
“For a police officer, you’re really dense aren’t you?”  
While he gapes, insulted, Haru pops her head out of the kitchen door. “Did he say yes yet?”  
They both turn to her, Akechi with his mouth still gaping and his brows flat, and Akira with his lips pulled into a line as thin as his patience.   
“Oh. I’ll come back.” She disappears again, then reappears just as quickly; “Um, after he says yes, will you come help me box these orders?”  
Akira nods. She darts back between the doors again.  
“I say yes?” Akechi questions slowly, turning a skeptical gaze on the man in front of him. Akira whirls on him with glittering eyes, face bright.  
“Oh you do? Great! Be here at four, and I’ll have dinner finished.”  
“Wait- no I mean-”  
“Comin’, Haru! Hey, he said yes-”  
Akechi stares at Akira’s retreating back, and hears a muffled keen that definitely did not belong to a man.  
It isn’t until he’s sitting at home, feet kicked up on the coffee table in front of his couch, flipping through cheesy holiday adverts that it hits him.  
There’s a man and a woman on the screen, fingers entwined before a glimmering tree and a roaring fire. The sultry narrator tries to seduce him into buying his special someone overly priced Belgian chocolates for Christmas.  
The remote clatters to the floor.  
His hand swipes up his phone instead.  
“Toranosuke? It’s Goro. Yes, I have a question.”

* * *

The halls are awash with rumors that chase and nip at his heels.  
Oh, Joker will certainly strike on Christmas.   
Oh yes, with the foreign Prime Minister visiting with a good will present like that. Who could resist?  
Anxiety bubbles in his gut, irritation winding through his muscles like venomous serpents. Rumors, just rumors. All speculation-  
“Goro.”  
The abrupt silence that seizes the hall is damn near deafening, and even he is wrapped up in the sudden halt in time. Frozen in place like all the other porcelain busts and figurines displayed on the pedestals, Goro takes in a slow, deep breath.   
“Yes, father?” He turns just fast enough to catch the man cringe at the title. A petty sense of satisfaction tickles his chest, an artificial grin painted perfectly across his lips.   
“Walk with me.”   
Goro falls into step behind him as he brushes past, keeping a measured pace. Close enough to hear, but always just one step behind, never beside. He’d learned that lesson long ago.  
“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors.”  
He bites back the sarcastic reply that lingers on the tip of his tongue, instead offering a nod of his head and a hum of affirmation.  
“So I’m sure you will understand why I will need you and your guard on duty during the meeting.”  
The toe of his shoe catches on the ornate rug, stumbling along until he regains his footing. “But, father-”  
It’s Shido’s exasperated sigh that makes him slow, watching with plummeting despair as the man stops to lean heavily against the doorway to his office. “Is there a problem, Goro?”   
A loaded question.  
Goro swallows the lump in his throat.  
“Well, certainly you do not need me. Simply the palace guards will do, correct? The police force as well?” Pleading with the sweetness quickly dissolving from his tone. The muscles in Shido’s back bunch, but its the slow metronome of his finger rapping against the doorway that chills him.  
The smile that Shido turns to give him is about as sweet as poisoned apples, sending ever fiber of his being on high alert.  
“Oh?” The word scrapes across his cheek, making him wince. “Do you have somewhere more important to be, Goro?” It’s all the sweetness of a father’s voice, and all the acid of a bubbling cesspool. Shido watches him expectantly behind his glasses, dissecting him for weaknesses; for flaws.  
Each word that crosses his mind weighs heavily on his tongue; a thousand counter arguments and consequences alike flashing through his mind. His fingers clench tight behind his back.  
“No, father. I look forward to the Prime Minister’s visit.”  
Shido leaves him with a crooked smirk that makes his blood broil, the racing of his heart deafening in his ears.

* * *

“Noir Bakery and Sweets, this is Akira speaking how can I help you?”  
Goro holds his breath. On the other end of the line he can hear the faint chatter of people, the thumping of cups on the drying rack, and the hiss of the espresso machine. He can imagine Akira, phone tucked between his shoulder and cheek as he bounces cups between the machine and the bar, sleeves rolled up to his elbows-  
“Hello?”  
“Ah, Akira, it’s Goro.”  
The sounds slow, the hiss of the coffee maker fading away. “Goro! Hey! I was actually going to call you after work. I was thinking for Christmas-”  
“That’s actually what I’m calling about.”   
The sounds halt completely, the silence on the other end far too heavy. He hasn’t even spoken the words, but they’re there. He slumps against the banister, dropping his head against the marble hard enough that his eardrums rattle.   
“You can’t make it.”  
“I’m sorry.”  
“It’s fine.”  
“It’s work, they need me I can’t-”  
“It’s cool, Goro. Really. Don’t worry about it.”  
Silence washes over them once more, until Goro can almost pick out the conversation of whoever is sitting at the bar, and the doors to the kitchen swinging open. Haru is probably hauling out boxes of holiday orders.  
“I’ll make it up to you.” He whispers.  
“I’ll add it to your tab of promises. I have to go back to work now.”  
When the phone clicks, he considers crunching it under his shoe. Instead he sinks to the floor and tips his head back against the banister.  
_Remember what it’s all for, Goro._  
No war was won without casualties.

* * *

“Joker, this is not a good idea. Ah, allow me to start over.” Haru laces her fingers on the kitchen table, watching him fuss with his coat collar. “ _C'est putain de stupide_.”  
He falters, head snapping around to meet her gaze. “Did you just swear at me?”  
Haru sets him with a sharp gaze not meant for such a sweet, round face. “Perhaps.”  
“Look,” He turns away from her and back to the mirror where he inspects himself. “I wasn’t planning on crashing this party. Prime minister has nothing I want.” Leaning closer, he struggles with the buttons at his throat, then inspects his chin for any stray hairs his razor missed. “But they seem to really want me at this party.”  
“You’re just mad they ruined your date.”  
The drop of a pencil would have been deafening in the quiet that followed. Slowly, he turns, fists clenched at his sides and lips twisted.  
“You’re not wrong. But it’s more than that.”  
Sighing heavily, she rises from the table, padding across the living room to smooth her hands over his vest. “Please be careful. For your sake and his.” She pleads quietly as she pops the lapel of his coat and straightens the handkerchief in his breast pocket.  
“You know that isn’t my style,” With a chuckle he slips the mask over his eyes. “Anything in my teeth?” He bares them to her in an unflattering grin, lips pulled too far back.   
“As spotless as your morality, Joker.”  
“Thank y- Hey!”

* * *

Goro stares at the calling card in his hand with such malice, the officer watching him looks fearful it might combust in his grip.  
The party died hours ago, executed without a hitch. The prime minister of the neighboring country met with Shido behind closed doors. They had a wonderful dinner with the local politicians, served the finest wine, and even had a few laughs.   
Or so he presumed, considering Joker never showed.  
“Get out.”   
“I- beg pardon, Sir?”  
The man flinches visibly when Goro pins him in his sight, the reverberation of his roar sending him barreling out the door. “Get out!”  
In the deafening silence, he sucks in a greedy breath, willing his heart to stall and his blood to cool.   
“Damn it.”  
The card crumples in his fists, mismatched lettering promising an uninvited guest who would do away with “the palace’s most precious treasure.”   
It could have been anything, even a trap. Goro suspected it’d been a smoke screen for something else, but no dog had been alerted, no alarm triggered, and their guest had long since departed safely.   
The humiliation left him feeling raw and empty. The crumpled card tumbles to the floor as he dropd into the lounge chair. His head hung between his shoulders, his vision hazes in and out on the paper. A whole night, wasted. In the dark of his room, he drops an arm over his eyes and tries to find the right string of words to beg Akira for a second chance.  
Halfway through scenario three, in which Akira beats him over the head with a handful of carnations and bans him from ever returning to Noir, something unnerves him.  
It’s midnight, but his room isn’t as dark as it should be. He hadn’t bothered with the lights when he came in, but something still glows in the corner of his vision, peeking beneath his wrist. It’s moonlight he realizes when he lifts his arms, blinking at the panels of light his balcony door spills across his floor. Amid the light, there’s the flutter of a shadow- the moonlight catching on his curtains.  
Except the doors are shut. His head snaps up to inspect them, and certainly they’re still closed tight, the ends of his curtains pinned by brass hoops to keep them from billowing when they were open.   
The fluttering is coming from beyond it, just barely visible through the gossamer.   
He rises as if in a dream, padding across the carpet despite the logical side of his brain screaming at him to grab his gun; to sound the alarm. His fingers hesitate on the handleset, letting the chill of it sink into his touch to sober him up. Through the curtains he can just make out a hazy phantom against the night sky, watching him from piercing eyes that smolder in the dark hollows of its face. Had it been smaller, he would have thought it an owl.   
The wind rushes against his face, frigid and unforgiving as it sweeps his hair back when he yanks both doors open.

“Good evening, Prince Goro. I’ve been waiting for you.”  
The breath escapes his lungs, his heart hammering in his chest like a hare caught in the hunt.  
It was one thing to chase shadows in the dark. It was another to stare it down and see what man or monster cast it.  
“Waiting for me?” He spits when he finds his voice, ire rising in his throat. “We’ve been waiting for you to come for the stupid treasure you coward!”  
A wicked chuckle cuts him off, the shadow before him rising to stand atop the banister like a perfectly sculpted gargoyle. Only belatedly does Goro realize this man or beast could easily kill him.   
"You," The rumble of his voice sends goosebumps racing across his skin. In the silhouette of the moon, Joker flutters like a ghost in the wind. Crimson fingers unfurl, extending his palm slowly to the wide eyed prince. The slant of his smile belongs in a fairy tale about girls falling down rabbit holes, and striped cats who only spoke in riddles; "Are the greatest treasure."   
Akechi glances between the hand, that haunting smile, the hand, Joker's curious cant of his head, his hand again, the bounce of his curls in the breeze-  
"Are you stupid or something?"  
His smile deflates instantly.  
“Wow, rude.”  
And just like that, the enchantment that Joker’s prowess had spun over him dispelled, leaving him underwhelmed and a tad disappointed.  
Joker moves to crouch, twisting and adjusting until he’s comfortably seated without risk of plummeting to his demise.   
“I came here to steal your heart, and take you away from here.”  
Certainly it sounds pleasant when spoken on such a creamy smooth voice but-  
“Truly?” He finds himself saying instead, stars dancing in his eyes.  
Joker shrugs a shoulder, lips still upturned at the corners. “Yes. Well, the stealing your heart part. I’m not into abducting people. That’s a much heavier felony than thievery.”  
“Why?” Goro watches him through narrowed eyes, hand drawn up to his chest and curling against his argyle sweater as if to protect said heart. The movement doesn’t go unnoticed, Joker’s eyes flicking down, then back up.  
“You’ve caught my eye. A man who serves his people like a knight in shining armor? Hunting thieves day and night?”  
“You’ve been watching me.” He breathes, taking a half step back.  
“Not all the time, I promise. I’m no voyeur. Just when you chase my tail.” The playful dart of his tongue would almost be cute if Akechi hadn’t wanted to barf.  
“You’re easy on the eyes too.” He continues, not subtle in the way he scans over Akechi from head to toe. When their eyes meet again, the smile fades.   
“You don’t really believe what they’re telling you, do you?” Akechi doesn’t answer, doesn’t question who ‘they’ are, just clenches his fists and stares steadfast forward. Eventually Joker sighs, scrubbing a hand in his hair.   
“Let me show you... Let me show you a Christmas far better than wasting it being gloomy in your room. Just for tonight.” The hand is once more outstretched, Goro watching cautiously. The fingers beckon him with a curl, the gaze above pleading. Swallowing thickly, he steps forward, ankles no longer shackled by the urge to flee.  
The first brush of his fingers against Joker’s arm makes vibrant red go wide in the shadows of his mask. A study of predators each preying on each other as Akechi continues to invade his space until their fingers touch. The flutter of his pulse is nearly visible beneath his skin, an ember kindled by his fingers sinking into dark curls. Lips part, his name carried on a sigh drenched in sweet innocence-  
Joker yelps beautifully when he hauls him down from his perch by a fistful of hair, side stepping to keep the man from spilling across his shoes. “To think we’ve been being duped by such an idiot thief. Guards-”   
"Wait, wait, wait! The box!"  
"The box?" Goro pauses, thief still leashed by his grip. Sure enough, there's a white box balanced precariously on the railing, the shape and design familiar. Hauntingly so. There's a groan of relief when he relents his hold, instead snatching the box into the safety of his arms. Cradling it like a delicate child, his eyes strain to read the familiar logo in the light that spills from scone on the wall.

  
" _Noir Cafe_."

  
His throat clenches, lips pressing into a thin line. When he looks up, Joker is righting himself, fussing with his hair and popping the collar of his coat. Noticing his gaze, the thief suddenly drapes himself languidly against the door frame with the artful carelessness of an apathetic stray.

  
"Did you steal this?"

  
"No!" For a thief, his whine is terribly offended. "!Well, that is to say... Look, just open it okay?"

  
There's a moment of hesitation in which he eyes Joker until the thief sighs in exasperation. "It's not rigged."

  
_Hmph_. He inches sideways until his hip bumps a small garden table, eyes never leaving Joker as he sets the box down carefully. By now he's picking his ear in a bored manner, not even watching Goro as he blindly slides the top of the lid off.

  
It may as well have been crafted from freshly fallen snow, and the sight of it sucks the air from his lungs. It was by no means big, a small circle meant to feed him and only him, perhaps one other. Glazed Strawberries form little spires, and the dollops of frosting between them almost made a perfect little crown, were it not for the decorations crammed within the circle. Colorful cookies that formed sprigs of mint and berries; a bland little star; and one palm sized plaque that made his heart thump painfully in his chest.

  
_Merry Christmas, Goro_  
_-Akira_

  
"He made it for you. I overheard him in the cafe." The caress of his voice makes him flinch, having forgotten his presence among the shadows drowned out by the colorful surprise. When he lifts his gaze, Joker's no longer boorishly picking at obscene orifices, having once more taken to the artful slouch with his hands crammed in his pockets. "Said he was worried you might be alone for Christmas, but didn't know where you lived."   
"That's not very seductive of you. You could have lied and said you brought me the cake."   
"Would you have believed me?"  
"Absolutely not, but I would have commended you for the effort."   
"What is he to you?"  
Goro considers spitting in his face that it's none of his damn business, because it isn't. After a second thought, with his gaze longingly on the luscious strawberries and artfully spun sugar snow, he realizes perhaps he does owe him for the favor.  
"More than I can ever be for him."

  
The sharp inhale makes him look up again, but Joker's gaze is cast somewhere in the emptiness of the balcony, lips puckered in a fat pout with his cheeks a little darker than Goro remembers them being.

His coat catches in the wind as he paces to the railing, shoulders hunched and hands still crammed in his pockets.

"Wait, where are you going? You can't leave." Joker slows his steps, giving him a lopsided grin and shrugs.   
"Look, someone clearly already beat me to the treasure-"  
"No, I mean you can't leave because you're under arrest."  
Clink.  
Joker's gaze slips slowly from his beaming smile to the steel link connecting their wrists. It travels dangerously slow to meet his own once more, and the predatory glare makes his skin prickle.  
"You aren't going anywhere." He announces with bravado, puffing out his chest and squaring his shoulders.   
Undaunted, Joker slides up close to him with a pleased purr, so close that Akechi has to reel back to keep from being swept up in his embrace.  
One step, two, Akechi loses count when his hip bumps the tea table, his hand scrambling behind him to make sure the cake didn't tumble.   
"If you'd wanted me to stay," Joker begins, pressing him into the edge of the mosaic table until his spine protests the angle. "All you had to do was ask. None of this ah, alternative lifestyle stuff." He lifts their joined wrists, Akechi's dangling like a puppet's from the chain.   
Cheeks hot with indignation, he opens his mouth to spit venomously in his face. Lips seal over his own, swallowing down the protest and the startled gasp that follows.   
"There, see? No need for so much fussing." His whisper tickles his lips, but Akechi can barely hear it over the buzzing in his brain and the creak of barren trees in a wind not frigid enough to stifle the fire beneath his skin.   
After a moment of admiring a short circuiting prince, Joker's lips are on his again, moving languidly in ways that makes his heart stutter. Except the enchantment of his kisses no longer keeps him paralyzed. It's the hand pinning his own to the table that does, and the one playing at the hem of his slacks.

  
Joker's tongue traces along his bottom lip, and his breath smells like something sharp and familiar.   
"Enough." The kiss falters as the warning rumbles between them, slowing until Joker's lips leave him feeling terribly naked.   
He's heaving, his steadying arm visibly quivering no matter how much he wills it to calm. Joker regards him in a way that makes him feel stripped of his power both in his bones and in his name.  
"I’ve wanted to do that for-"  
Akechi rams the strawberry right up his nostril, relishing in his distressed snort when glaze invades his airway. The thief recoils, covering his face with his hands and muffling his curses. It's worse when he stops, staring cross eyed down the nose of his mask with a look of utter horror.  
Akechi snorts.  
"You shoved it in my NOSE."  
Akechi looses a chuckle, then falls back against the table with a cackle as the man struggles to pluck it free. It's too slippery to grab, and even when he dislodges it there's still glaze clogging his nose. "You could have- just said stop- I was going to-"

  
Hands.  
Joker is using his left hand to pick at his nose and attempt to blow out the offending jam.  
Akechi jerks his own. It catches, metal biting into his skin. Another jerk, and metal rattles on metal, the table behind him wobbling.  
"You cur!"   
Joker pauses in his nose blowing, side eyeing him crudely. A cursory glance down and he grunts softly. Akechi watches with festering ire as the thief raises a hand, his keys dangling from his glove.   
"I almost felt bad about that. Almost."   
He struggles against his binds until the table's instability threatens his gift, reeling him in by a frosted leash. As if weighing no more than a feather, he watches as Joker leaps up onto the railing of the balcony, looking a little less ridiculous when his high collar blocks the lower half of his face.   
"Oh don't look at me like that. I really did come to steal your heart. The kiss was just my consolation prize. Don't think I've given up."   
With a taunting 'See ya.' He steps off the balcony, disappearing into the darkness with Akechi's shouting echoing after him.  
The ensuing silence is deafening, save for his breath that clouds in front of his face. Exhaustion seeps into his skin as if his clothes are drenched in it. Heavy with defeat, he turns to look at the cake, with its one naked spot where the strawberry had been. He snags another one off the side and bites into it, chewing slowly and letting the tart glaze mingle with the sweetness on his tongue.  
Only to realize there's no forks.   
His howl sends the nesting birds below fleeing into the sky and the police busting down his door.

* * *

The bell above the door precedes him with a jingle, the cafe’s warmth washing over his skin and shooing away the chill that follows at his heels.  
Akira is seated at the bar with his chin propped in his palm, staring blankly ahead and pointedly ignoring his presence even when he dithers just off to the side of the register.

"I ah, I got your cake." He announces, breaking the awkward veil between them.  
Akira lifts his head at this, blinking owlishly behind his glasses in what Goro can only assume is disbelief. The kind that reminds him of children finding their stockings filled by old Saint Nicholas. His hands fold on the bar top as his impossibly long lashes lower to hide his eyes.   
"Oh?"  
"It was the best thing I've ever eaten." Akechi admits as he slides into his usual chair, leaning forward on the bar into Akira's space. "I almost didn't want to eat it. It was lovely. Thank you."  
Color rises to pale cheeks, the tension in Akira's features softening until he catches the corner of his mouth twitching upward.   
"I'm sorry I couldn’t spend Christmas with you. Believe me when I say I truly wanted to."   
Akira waves him silent, Goro granting him it as he sits back in his seat. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have pressured you. I know you got your own life outside this bakery ah... I don’t have a right to demand to be in all of it. It’s not like we’re-”  
“No!”  
The thump of Akechi’s palms on the counter makes them both jump, before he curls his fingers with a soft apology.   
“No. I-” His tongue loses connection with his brain, his mouth able to form the shapes but not give breath to the words. He should have left delegate Goro at home. Instead he scrambles for the man beneath it, for the one who belongs in a hole in the wall bakery in ratty jeans and a hoodie that smells too much like street smoke and coffee.  
“I want that.” He finally says, the words leaving his tongue feeling as raw as the first sip of a scalding cup of coffee. “I want to...” The answer isn’t on his palms, no matter how desperately he gestures with them.  
It’s Akira’s hand that slides across the bar, until warm cologne fills his senses and he has to tip his head back to look up, meeting a heady gaze that left him feeling as stripped naked as he had been but a few nights ago.   
“Goro. Do you want to go out with me?”  
The air leaves his lungs in a rush, his shoulders deflating. The lacquer sticks beneath the dig of his nails when he propels himself up just enough, just close enough that sugary sweet breath ghosts over his lips.  
“I do. I really do.”  
They were supposed to kiss, right? That’s how it went in the cheesy dramas that often served to fill the silence with nonsensical noise.   
“But you can’t.” Akira says instead, plunging icy truth into his breast.   
The tension in his throat nearly chokes Goro when he swallows.  
“I can’t give you the time you deserve.”  
Silence reigns, fat and ripe. He can see lips moving faintly as Akira tastes the words on his tongue before he speaks. Too bitter? Too harsh? Too false and sweet?  
The pads of his fingers drag along the curve of his throat, coiling beneath his chin to keep it tipped upward.   
Akira’s brow softens.   
“Can you give me what little time you do have?”  
How unsexy would it be to barf up his heart?  
The promise weighs on him, like all the other promises he’d made; Sleep more, eat more, lean on me more, eat your cake, be safe-  
“Say the word and its yours.”  
He doesn’t say the word, whatever the word was supposed to be. Instead his lips quirk in a way that reminds him too much of something- someone- dark and dangerous.   
“Can I kiss you?”  
_Please, for the love of God-_  
“If you wish.”  
There’s a flash of a white mask in the corners of his mind, his heart desperately trying to beat its way right out of his chest. Rough lips brush just the corner of his mouth, chaste and sweet and nothing like the way Joker had pillaged his mouth.   
“I like you, Goro. I get it. You’re a busy and mysterious man. It’s part of what I like about you. So long as you keep coming back for my coffee and my cake, I think I can forgive you.”  
He snatches Akira by the wrist before he can pull away, flushing at the way his captive smirks at the hold. As if he’d played into some sort of game. But before he can step back to look at the chess board, to watch for traps and checkmates, he blurts;  
“Let me take you out.”  
Akira blinks. “Now?”  
“Yes. Right now.”  
It doesn’t hit him how irrational the demand is until dark eyes dart around behind his spectacles to examine the mostly empty cafe. He hadn’t noticed before, but he’d yet to see hide or hair of Haru, who usually made it a point to exit the kitchen long enough to greet him. Only the painting of Saiyuri and the hum of the antique radio impedes on their privacy.   
“Alright,” He escapes the gentle grip, reaching behind him to undo the apron. “Give me a minute to close up shop?”  
Life rushes to his cheeks, leaving him feeling freshly baked and glowing.

* * *

The day after Christmas, the lights still leave the shopping district vibrant with commercialism and cheer. It’s not such a terrible thing, he thinks, as he watches the colors reflect off Akira’s lenses. Despite windows boasting sales in the wake of the festivities, he artfully evades any attempts made to deduce what to get for a gift. In return, Goro is equally as evasive, but Akira presses up to his side like it’s a game, slipping his fingers playfully in the belt loop of Goro’s jeans.   
“The cake was all the gift I needed.” The kiss too, but he doesn’t say that out loud, simply swipes his upper lip with his tongue when he thinks Akira isn’t looking.  
They meander past a book store, bumping shoulders as they glance at the display within. A few new releases, and a sign boasting a new comic series popular in Japan. A poster board cut out depicts a bubbly young girl, springing forth from an explosion of stars with a top hat outstretched in her hand. Before he can ask Akira what it’s about, the man is already picking up his long, languid strides, pulling Goro along by his arm.  
Akira leads him along unfamiliar pathways, showing him a toy gun store, an arcade, and an American fried chicken joint with a statue of an elderly man in a red apron. Goro doesn’t get the appeal, but Akira seems pleased pink about it enough to convince him to go inside long enough to grab some drinks.  
It’s on the stroll back that he breaks the comfortable quiet that’d fallen between them.  
“Hey, Goro, what do you think of that phantom thief guy?” Akira asks, and chuckles when his face scrunches up into an ugly grimace. “I mean like... do you think he’s a good guy?”  
In lieu of answering him, he takes a long, slow draw from the straw protruding from his soda. Akira watches him the whole time, hands shoved in his pocket and impish grin unwavering.  
“I think he’s an asshole.” He finally answers, frowning.  
“Oh,” Was that a crestfallen exhale?; “He can’t be that bad. I mean... he did do me that favor. Uh- even if he stole the cake.”  
Goro’s steps slow, his lips still pursed around his straw if only to hide the way he gnawed at the tip. “No one likes to think they’re wrong, Akira. But he’s breaking the law and I can’t let him do that. I have a duty to protect everyone, even if I don’t agree with them. Besides,”   
His hoodie suddenly feels far too warm.  
“He’s really underwhelming. I expected him to be much more... I’m uncertain. Intimidating? Charismatic?”  
Akira’s face is turned away from him when he comes back down from his tirade. “Well, what is he like then?”  
“An idiot.” He answers without skipping a beat, and Akira nearly walks face first into a pole. “But a dangerous one. Akira,” He reaches for his hand, folding their fingers together. “Please be careful from now on.”   
Wide eyed, he stares down at their joined hands, wiggling his fingers experimentally in Akechi’s hold.   
“Walk me home then? So you know I’m safe.”

* * *

  
The cafe is dark when they return, a sight that seems wrong and forbidden. Instead of dismissing him at the door, Akira tugs him in, making sure to keep the ‘Closed’ sign flipped.   
“I thought I was taking you home?” Akechi questions with an arched brow, staring at Akira who grins dubiously. “I live in the apartment above the cafe. You never noticed?”  
Akechi almost feels stupid answering that.  
“No, I just assumed you returned to whatever romcom you stepped out of.”  
The peel of laughter makes him jolt, Akira finally turning on him. “I was going to show you, when you came over for... never mind, it doesn’t matter.”  
Stifling his chagrin, he steps into Akira’s space, arm coming up behind him. “Akira, I-”  
His apology cuts off as Akira turns in his embrace, gaze tilted up far beyond his face and to the ceiling above. His arms coil slowly around Akechi’s middle, his body language spilling his master plan like some poorly kept secret.  
“What? Oh no, look at that.”   
Akira tugs him forward by his grip on his belt loops with surprising strength. Pressed chest to chest, Goro can smell the sugary sweet coffee still fresh on his breath, can admire the dark fan of his eyelashes across flushed cheeks. He doesn’t have to look up to know what’s above them, simply rests his arm against the doorway, trapping Akira in the middle.   
Awkward laughter escapes between them, soft and giddy. It ends when Goro clears his throat, and Akira’s smile melts into an pensive line. He’s fiddling with the string to Akechi’s hoodie, rolling it and curling it between his deft fingers.   
“You don’t have to.” He admits softly, lifting that dark veil so Akechi can swim in the onyx of his eyes.  
He kisses him anyway.  
It’s soft and slow, just a chaste brush that feels out the curve of Akira’s smile.   
“Nervous?”  
“No,” He pauses, drumming his fingertips on the frame. “Maybe a little.”  
Akira’s quiet laughter tickles his lips, infecting him with it until he’s grinning bashfully himself. Fingers curl in his hoodie, keeping him perfectly poised while the baker drags his lips across his cheek.  
“You don’t kiss people very often, do you?”  
He hums. “Nope.”  
There’s the faintest brush of teeth in that grin.  
“Good. I was feeling a little jealous there.”  
It’s his turn to laugh this time, drunk on giddiness until his cheeks burn and his knees feel a little unsteady. Lips seal over his own, snuffing out his laughter instantly. All the tension in his body leaves him in a dreamy sigh, melting forward into Akira’s lips as they lead his own along. It’s surprisingly easy to follow, the movements far too familiar, but when he tries to chase the memory, Akira leaves him cold and breathless.  
“Stay the night.”  
He drags his tongue over his upper lip for traces of what they’d shared, carding his hand through Akira’s damp curls. A sigh rewards him, followed by a chaste peck. Bribery, sweet bribery that chases away what chill had lingered from the outside.  
“I can’t.”  
The grunt of frustration is unexpected, as is the hat that’s knocked off his head.   
“Is it too soon?” Akira asks, fingers sinking into chestnut locks, coaxing him down again. “We don’t have to do anything,” He promises when he breaks away from another kiss, his arm now hooked behind his neck to keep him captive. “I just want you to stay.”  
Fuck.  
Akechi rakes his teeth across his bottom lip, trying to sober up as the sting dissipates, but Akira sucks it between his own lips instead, drawing a quiet moan from him.  
“Wait- Wait here, okay?” For a moment he lingers, worried if he steps out that door it’ll break whatever Christmas magic this was, turning his glorious date into nothing but powdered snow. But Akira leans back into the doorway, withdrawing his arms to fold them over his chest.   
“I’ll be right back, I promise.” He seals it with a peck, leaving Akira smirking as he watches him flee the cafe.  
He dithers on the sidewalk outside, the sudden rush of chilly air painfully sobering. Trembling fingers fumble on the keypad of his phone before he brings it to his ear.  
“Tora? It’s Goro. I need a favor.” 

* * *

“You came back.” Akira notes with an arch of his brow, as if genuinely impressed Akechi hadn’t hit the pavement as soon as he’d stepped out the door.  
“I promised, didn’t I?” Flipping the phone shut, he tucks it back into his hoodie and leaves his hands tucked in there to hide the whites of his knuckles. “Sorry, I just had to call... my supervisor and ask him for the night off.”   
The gaze regarding him widens just a little, almost unnoticeable if he hadn’t already been drowning in them.   
“I didn’t bring anything to sleep in.” He admits, reaching down to swipe his hat from the floor.   
“It’s fine, you can wear my clothes.” The hat crumples in his iron grip as he watches Akira ascend the staircase.

Akechi isn’t entirely sure what he expected to be above the cafe. Maybe an attic, or a sad little studio apartment. Not a modest little apartment that belonged in a decorating magazine.  
Not Haru looking elegant, draped over one of the leather couches with her leg dangling over the arm rest, a laptop balanced on her belly. She greets them with a smile spun from sunshine, the living room brighter for it. Akira is greeted with a hug, and Akechi finds himself the next victim of it, his arms frozen awkwardly outward as he looks to Akira for help.   
“It’s a hug, Goro. It won’t kill you.”  
Except it feels like it just might. Just like Akira’s kiss, Haru’s hug is warm and full of unspoken sentiments and he’s never felt so welcome in a room full of strangers. His heart is in his throat again. When they lock eyes over her messy bob of curls, the realization is plain in Akira’s gaze, his lips forming a silent “oh”.  
“Did you two already eat?” Akechi’s almost reluctant to let her go when she draws away, looking between them as if it were another Thursday night. Akira nods in affirmation, hands crammed in his pockets.   
“Goro’s gonna stay the night with us, if that’s cool with you?” Akechi watches as she brightens, bringing a hand to her lips in the way delicate maidens do. Except that Akira tsks softly and shakes his head at her, an exchange he doesn’t entirely understand but whatever it is, Haru draws out an “Oh” and bats her lashes.   
“Well,” She laces her fingers together, turning Akechi and pinning him to the spot with her gaze. “Forgive me, Goro. I would love to spend the evening with you two, but I am working on finances for the cafe. I’ll move to my room so you two can use the TV. Maybe next time?”  
She bats her thick lashes over doe eyes, ‘next time’ a loaded question cocked by a soft voice.  
There will be a next time, won’t there?  
He presses the hat to his chest and tips forward just a little. “I would be honored to visit your home again, Miss Haru.”  
Her smile is blinding, but she hides it behind her hands when she giggles. “Oh, Akira! I like him!” The burning in his neck climbs up his cheeks until even the tips of his ears tingle. When she turns away he breathes out in relief, and she saunters past Akira on her way to retrieve the laptop on the couch. “Be a gentleman to him or I’ll kick you out and make you sleep in the restaurant!” With puffed cheeks, she disappears into the door at the far end of the apartment, dragging the laptop cord behind her.  
It sticks in the door when she tries to shut it with finesse, and they both watch the door as it reopens, her hand snatching the cord inside before the door clicks shut once more.  
“You uh... live with your boss?” Akechi is the first to break the silence, hat still pressed to his chest as he glances sideways. Akira is just as dark in the cheeks as he is, which is a relief.  
“Sort of. Haru and I go way back, to high school. When I graduated, she gave me a job to get me through college.” There’s a whole lot of spaces in his story, but Akechi doesn’t press, instead smiling warmly.   
“So, she is your friend?”  
Akira combs a hand through his curls, finally looking away from the door.   
“She’s family.”   
Akechi simply nods, moving out of the way when Akira steps towards the kitchen behind him. Their hands brush in what he thinks is an accident, until Akira’s pinkie hooks his fingers.   
“Beer?” He jerks his head towards the fridge; an older model that seems out of place among the modern aesthetic. Just as his fingers are about to slip free, Akechi seizes them, fingers wriggling until they slip between the spaces of Akira’s own. It’s an awkward fit, but it’s worth it to watch the sparks ignite in his dark gaze, to watch his lips part ever so slightly as he stares down at their hands.  
“Sure.”

And that’s how he finds himself on Akira’s floor at 1 A.M., in borrowed sweats with a beer in his hand, watching shitty Christmas reruns in the dark. Akira stretches out across the couch behind him, already on his second beer with a constitution that he both fears and admires. A few times he could swear he feels the man playing with his hair, but Akechi doesn’t fuss about it. Instead he tips into the touch, neck of the bottle still pressed to his lips. It’s hard to see Akira’s face, his eyes shielded by a reflection of the TV on his glasses.   
Except the one time, he catches Akira fully facing him, finger shamelessly winding a chestnut lock around it. “Merry Christmas, Goro.” He finally says after what seems like an eternity of staring.   
Akechi considers correcting him. Christmas was two days ago. He never got Akira anything, not a card or anything. Instead, he murmurs; “Merry Christmas, Akira.”- and turns back to the TV, swiping the remote to flip through the channels. The silence is heavy, and he can feel Akira’s gaze boring into the back of his skull.  
With a sigh, he sets the bottle on the floor between his thighs. “This is my first time spending Christmas with someone.”  
“Like a significant other?”   
“No,” He shakes his head; “with anyone. I’m always working.”  
The pause is loaded. Akechi waits for the cock of the trigger.  
“What about your family?”  
He draws his legs up, butt sliding along the floor, but at least at this angle he can tip his head back to look at his companion.  
“I stopped spending it with them after mom died. Fa- Dad and I don’t get along.  
“I’m sorry, Goro.” It sounds sincere. Goro hates that.  
“S’okay. It was a long time ago anyway.” He half shrugs, offering a crooked grin meant to be reassuring. The delicate brush of fingertips against his cheek startles him, deflating his grin instantly.  
Leaning over the edge of the couch, Akira keeps him spellbound. The light of the TV finally shifts off his lenses, granting Akechi a gaze full of warmth, eyes crinkled at the corners. “Well, thanks for wanting to spend it with me.”  
He blanks for a moment, then raises the bottle in his hand. “Thanks for the free beer.”   
Akira’s chuckle is musical and infectious, heat blossoming in his veins until he feels it in his fingers and toes. Setting the remote down on the floor carefully, he reaches up, catching Akira by the back of his head to drag him down. Two steps ahead, Akira slides a little further forward, twisting so the press of their lips isn’t an awkward bumping of noses.  
“Forgive me. I like doing that.”  
“S’okay, I like doing that too. Hey, do you like pancakes?”  
Akechi hums in answer, dragging his tongue over his upper lip. “I haven’t had those since I was a kid.”  
Akira’s finger traces along the column of his throat, following the contour of his jaw.  
“I’ll make you some in the morning then.”  
“Isn’t that the sort of thing you do after sleeping with someone?”  
He’s answered with a half shrug and a toothy grin. “I ‘unno. I think this was a lot nicer than sex.”   
Akechi blinks slowly, then looks back to the TV, now sporting a cartoon who’s age is betrayed by the lines that flicker along the screen. He smiles, his toes curling.

It is.

**Author's Note:**

> May your Christmas be blessed with love and warmth! May your socks be soft, and you always have the perfect amount of marshmallows in your cocoa! And may this AkeShu warm your heart like writing it for you warmed mine!  
> (Im so sorry if it seems rushed I wanted to add so much more but time constraints.)  
> Also if you can guess who the comic book character is, you win a prize! Hint: She's from the 90's.


End file.
